


Thirteen

by Silverstreams



Series: Hospice [6]
Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, caveline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverstreams/pseuds/Silverstreams
Summary: "Couldn’t you have kept this all from happening? Dig me out from under our house."Cave tells Caroline about the GLaDOS project.





	Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

> “Pull me out… pull me out… can’t you stop this all from happening? Close the doors and keep them out.  
> “Dig me out… Oh, dig me out… Couldn’t you have kept this all from happening? Dig me out from under our house.”  
> \-- "Thirteen" by The Antlers

Cave Johnson's office was empty. 

It had been that way for a few months now, ever since he'd moved down to hospice for the end of his days. 

Even though it was the most luxurious office in the area--even with a private bathroom--she hadn’t been able to bring herself to sit there and work. It was still  _ his  _ desk. Not hers. Not yet. She took a look at her own single desk in a sea of desks, and then turned toward Cave Johnson’s office. 

Caroline paused at the door--the doorway she'd stopped at a million times before. Images of times she'd been there before went through her head. All of the "Yes, sir"s and "Anything else, sir”s that she'd said. 

Today, she went inside the office. 

Her fingers twisted the lock shut behind her. Nothing would be more embarrassing than having some lackely walk in and see her, Caroline--the Backbone of Aperture Science--crying alone on Cave Johnson’s desk. 

She had some important business to conduct, and she didn’t wanted to be interrupted like she was on an average day. She figured Mr. Johnson would forgive her for the transgression. This was special. 

No. This was top secret. 

Her fingers clutched at the folder in her hands. 

She sunk into his comfortable desk chair--so luxurious--and tried to keep herself from crying. 

_ You can do this, Caroline _ , she whispered to herself, barely believing it. She had to hold it together. Mr. Johnson was depending on her. Aperture was depending on her. 

Her fingers trembled as she flipped open the folder, the one pressed into her hands just hours ago by a frantic Cave Johnson. The memory of it came rushing back to her, replaying as clearly as if it was happening all over again. 

* * *

  
  
She had come to the hospital late that day to visit him, exhausted from her duties. 

"I have a surprise for you," Cave had said. 

A surprise? That was unusual. Cave Johnson wasn't one for surprises--he tended to not be very good at keeping them, especially when he'd rather blurt out the secret and see the person's reaction rather than wait for the right time. 

She hated surprises. She'd always been one that preferred to know everything that was happening, exactly when it was supposed to happen, and what was supposed to happen. It was all part of her grand plan, the internal clocks that guided her through her day. She didn't like changes in that plan, even though being flexible was a big part of her job description. With a place with as many moving parts as Aperture, things went wrong and not according to plan frequently. Still though, she hated surprises. Rarely had a surprise ever been a good thing for her. 

She went over the possibilities in her mind. 

It couldn't have been a work-related thing. He was too out of touch with that. Maybe he'd gotten some good news from the doctor today? She hadn't bothered to stop and talk to her on her way in, having gotten tired of the same bad news day after day. Caroline let the possibility raise her heart a little bit. Maybe this was the good news that they all needed. Maybe this would be a good day for them. 

Caroline took her seat next to the side of the bed. "Oh?" she started.

"It's something I've been working on with the lab boys," he said with a smile. 

"The lab boys?" said Caroline. When did Mr. Johnson have time to meet with them? How did he even have the energy to meet with them? He didn't have the energy to run the company anymore--which was why she was doing it. He barely had the energy to be cognizant whenever she did come down and visit him. "What were the lab boys doing down here?" 

"Don't worry, I asked them to come," he said. 

Caroline had warned Cave to not accept meetings from many people, worried that they might try to get him to sign away his rights to the company, that they might try to swindle him in some way. To be safe, all visitors went through Caroline. At least, that was how it was supposed to be. 

"It's a project," he said. "Something life-changing." 

"Mr. Johnson," Caroline started. How could she break this to him gently? This was something that she had dealt with before. The vain, self-preservation instinct at its finest. The desire to save himself with some sort of miracle cure or miracle treatment. 

What would it be today? A dietary supplement to coat his lungs (again) to reverse the effects of the lunar poisoning? Jumping through portals in an attempt to get them to leech it out of his system? Everything had already been tried. That is, the treatments that she deemed safe enough for him to even try. So how did she break it to him that his latest scheme to defy death probably wasn't worth pursuing? 

"Just hear me out on this, Caroline," he said. "Me and the lab boys came up with something I think you'll love. We're calling it the GLaDOS project." 

"The GLaDOS project?"

"The Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System.” He spread his hands apart. “It's like a computer, but so much better. A way to store a man's personality--their entire being--inside of a computer. A way for me to live on forever."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" said Caroline. They didn't keep things from each other. They made it a point to do that. Hiding things from one another had only caused them pain in the past. 

"Well--we didn't think it would work. But we made it to human trials, Caroline. This is the real deal." 

"What?" she said, her voice low. 

"I know I didn't tell you--but I couldn't wait any longer. We're really onto something here, Caroline,” he said. "I wanted to do it. For me. But in case if it’s too late for me--If anything happens to me--Caroline, I want you to take my place." 

There was a heavy pause. 

"You want me to live forever?" said Caroline, softly. 

"Of course I do. If any of us deserve it, it's you." 

"I don't want it." She said it quickly, matter-of-fact. 

"This is your chance to take over--to keep Aperture running. To do science!" Cave said, with a sweep of his hand. She could see the visions of glory--the glint of eternity in his eyes. He shoved the folder into her arms. 

She took a shaky breath. "I don't want this." 

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you want it.” 

"Listen to me. Sir," she said,  "I do not want this." 

Cave finally acted as if he had heard her. "Whaddya mean?" he said. "I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime, and  you're going to tell me no?" 

"I can't," she whispered, yanking away her hands from his with tears in her eyes. 

His voice grew low. "Caroline, you know I won't take no for an answer." 

* * *

  
  
Caroline spread out the papers in front of her. It made sense. It made too much sense. The human trials were going perfectly. They were just doing partitions of the brain--mostly the frontal lobe--and then calling the resulting being a 'personality core,' since the core of the person's personality was preserved, albeit in a one-dimensional way. The good news was that they had buckets of these creations. It working. Too well. 

The downside? The upload process killed the person. One hundred percent fatal. No way around it. Just a part of the process. 

Caroline swallowed as she tried to process these words. Sure, death was an inevitability for all human life. That she knew. The fact of Cave's ailment had this thought all on the forefront of their minds. 

But if she went through with this--she would die too. 

Could Aperture stand to lose both of them?

Caroline swallowed, closing the folder. 

She cried. 

 


End file.
